The Morning Star
by March-Gilmore
Summary: [ Men in trees after ep 14 ] Marian is trying to move on, but we can't really say that about Jack. Basically JackMarian, but I'm going to write some action for Plow Guy, too. Just R&R, please!
1. Starving

Hey Guys!

Look, this is my first Men in Trees fanfiction, so be nice, ok? I'm a Brazilian girl, so probably there are some things misspelled or grammatically wrong – if you spot a mistake, please tell me and I'll fix it.

Obviously I don't own anything (frankly, if I was the writer for Men in trees, Lynn would be far gone by now, probably hit by a truck ¬¬ )

I don't know if I'm keeping this title, 'morning stars' because it sounds very cliché. It's actually the name of a poetry by a Brazilian guy named "Manuel Bandeira" ( Estrela da Manhã ). Well, I'll figure it later.

Anyways, that's it, hope you like it:)

**The morning star**

Chapter one: Starving.

I am concentrating as hard as I can, but I don't think it's possible. Nop. Dam, I don't think you can die of starvation just by lying on the carpet.

It's just so freaking hilarious. I mean, I, Marian Friske, I am hilarious. I am a freaking hilarious lie. I'm mistakenly supposed to help people – actually, I'm supposed to be the _very best one _at doing that… So, I wonder, who's going to help _me? _How am I supposed to tell people to be strong when I'm feeling so… So naked? So vulnerable and weak that I even feel pathetic – too pathetic to go out, actually. Every time I go out I feel people staring at me, expecting me to do or say something fabulous and all I wanna say is: " Guys, could you please, _please _look away? I'm trying to put the pieces of my broken self together and I'm really embarrassed about it – I really don't want to be watched while I do it." Well, that's why I've given up going out. I haven't been out of my room for 2 days, now.

One of the things that pained me the most was that I've always been able to taught people to have hope. How am I going to do this now? "Hey, have hope! Just because half of me is feeling dead and the other half is seriously suicidal, it doesn't mean _you _can't hope for better things! Cheer up!"

I don't think people would buy it.

I guess it's too bad for me that Elmo doesn't have a delivery service. Now I'm going to die hungry, poor and forgotten. Oh, yeah… and alone.

As my thoughts grew distant, the ringing phone brought me back to earth. And then I realized… _Jeez, I was starving!_

"Marian? It's Annie. I was wondering, what do you wanna eat tonight?"

Hearing Annie's voice, which sounded so… so deeply… compassional, almost filled with pity, it really made me feel like crap. What if Annie was busy, what would I do, die of starvation? Suddenly, I had this awful vision of myself, laid of the bathroom floor, dead – and then nobody would miss me and a savage raccoon would come and eat half my face.

I've deciced a long time ago I don't wanna be this girl.

"You know what, Annie? Just 'cause Jack can't see how amazing I am, it doesn't mean I have to be left behind to die and then be eaten by some stupid wild raccoon. I can take care of myself. I'm going to fetch my own dinner tonight!"

" Uh… You sure? You are souding a bit… Uhn… Crazy?"

No, not really.

" Yeah, sure! I mean, eventually I have to go out, right? Girls will be girls, Annie!"

"You don't know how nice it is to hear this, Marian. It sounds like you're back."

Then we hanged up the phone.

Yeah, Annie, I guess I _was _starting to come back.

After I hanged up the phone, I felt something funny inside my stomach. It took me a while to recognize it – it was anxiety. I mean, the good kind of anxiety – you know… The one you feel on your first day at a new job or school, those occasions when you change your clothes twice to look your best and feel really… hopefull. When you don't know what lies ahead of you and all you can do about it is hope for the best. It's like… Like the beginning of a walk, and, my friend, I really like walking. I took a really long hot bath and picked up my best clothes: A blue sweater, a wool's black skirt, high healed black boots – everything covered with a purple leather coat. Then, I marched outside like someone that marches for freedom – I was sick and tired of hiding.


	2. Waltz out

I walked in (or more likely, waltzed in ) the Chieftan feeling really confident about myself. I remembered to bring Stuart's note with me – it said _I want you. _I want you in what sort of way? I mean, obviously, he wanted to be my publisher, he had gotten what he wanted, but what if he wanted _more_, I wondered… 'Not strings attached'. I hate that expression, it's so stupid. There are always strings, aren't there? And one of the parts always ends up miserable… That's how it goes, right? When your professional life starts to grow and prosper, your personal life falls apart – that's somehow the main mandment of a single girl, right? I mean, apparently everyone knows that, expect for me. Well, it doesn't matter, I'll learn it soon enough.

Sometimes is hard, like if I had to play a part, as in 'I'm strong, independent Marian Friske'. I mean, I am _strong and independent, _but I just suppose things have to follow a natural order and I was skipping a step: Shiv'ah. When I lived in New York, I had a Jewish neighbor and sometimes we talked about Jewish culture – and one of the things I like the best about it is how they respect the dead. In Judaism, when someone dies, you have to respect the body: A week without cooking or eating things you like, without showering and without clean clothes. A week without having sex and without having fun, basically. Then, after this period, is time for the grieving one to let the deceived go, it's time to stand up – because the show must go on. It's a way of hitting the bottom and then coming back, because every one needs fresh air after some time. I hadn't hit the bottom yet – but I guess I wasn't breathing either. My pride couldn't let me grieve over my deceived relationship with Jack – because even though we hadn't had much, what we had meant something – at least to me.

But instead of grieving, I decided to hide inside my pride, and it grew more and more inside of me. As I rubbed Stuart's card, I couldn't help thinking: Someone still believes in me and in my writing, therefore everything isn't yet lost. I guess now I'd finally have my well deserved new chapter of life – and this time, I'd be filled with confidence.

But all my confidence went down the flush when I gazed Lynn and Jack sitting in an isolated table – holding hands, touching noses, looking really… really close. Like if they were trading freaking confidences or something.

Right now I just wanted to focus on me, I wanted to feel fabulous, but… really, all I could feel was this awful green monster growing inside of me – possibly, this monster is called jealousy. And then he caught my gaze, and I suppose he noticed I felt jealous – and so Jack stared at me. He stared at me all night long.

'What the hell!…' I though… if he can have fun, so can I. And yeah, I know I sound terribly childish but at that point I was so pissed I really didn't care anymore.

"Theresa? I would like a tequila shot, please"

Jerone accompanied me saying "Hey Blondie, take it easy!"

"Oh please…" I said… "I'm a New York girl! I know how to drink!"

"Well, I suppose you're right. I always liked a woman with a glass, anyway."

And so Theresa served me. Once, twice, five times, twelve times. I had fifteen shots of tequila and every time I turned around, Jack's eyes were there, watching, judging and disapproving. But I didn't care, I had Stuart's note in my pocket, so at least I knew _somebody _wanted me. Or at least my writing, anyway.

"Hey coach… Take it easy." Jack said, as he walked out. He prudently waited for Lynn to go ahead and then just spoke that, to my face. And then, he left. But, of course, before going away, what did he do?

He _looked _at me.

_Take _it easy? Take it _easy?_

Seriously, who this guy thinks he _is?_ I mean… I take it easy whenever I feel like I should. God, the arrogance! I just wish I could… Jeez!

Well, you know what? That's the thing about drinking. You always feels brave and right, like if you owned the truth. And I lied to Jerone, I wasn't much of a drinker back in New York – I had the occasional Champagne or wine and that was pretty much it – very, very different from fifteen shots of tequila. I felt so… So _powerful._ Like if nothing could hit me, like if I was unbreakable.

The Chiefton started to feel really hot, crowded and unfriendly. So I paid my bill and went inside my truck. How, all of a sudden, I could be feeling so miserable? Five minutes ago I was even feeling powerful. You know, I really love being a woman, but sometimes the all 'roller-coaster' of feelings just sucks.

I turned the ignition to go home, but I suppose the universe wasn't done with me at that point of the night, because unconsciously I went somewhere else.

I went knocking at Jack's door.


	3. Tequila, tequila

That's the thing about hangovers. You can say all those things you've been wanting to say but are too afraid or embarrassed to actually say it, and then, in the next morning, you can pretend nothing happened. I was drunk enough to loose the embarrassment and fear, but still I remembered everything the next morning – even how Jack was dressed and how it was freezing cold outside his door – not that I cared. I had a burning hate inside of me and it was consuming all my better judgment.

And Jack just stared at me, with those stupid giant blue eyes.

"Marian..."

"No! You don't get to 'Marian' me! I'm through with it, Jack!"

I should have stopped there. I should have gone back to my car and drive back to the inn. But I didn't. I had had too many tequila shots to keep my big mouth shut.

"You know what, Jack? I'm trying to be a better person here. I'm _trying _to understand. You wanna be with your high school sweetheart, ok, I got it! I just hate the fact that I can't hate you, or Lynn. I hate the fact that you're such a nice guy. I hate the fact that you're willing to take back your pregnant ex-girlfriend because she _needs_ you. However" – and here I breathed in, because I was talking very loud and fast and angrily. "You… You _don't _get to look at me. Not like that, anyway. You don't get to look at me like you're freaking sad or something. _I_ get to be sad, and I'm trying really hard not to show it. But it's me who gets sad. Jack, you've broken me in places I thought I couldn't break and now I don't think I can earn a living anymore. Not as a relationship coach, anyway. I have to learn how to invent toys for Kinderegg, at least until I figure out how to glue my pieces together, anyway. But I can't do that while you're looking at me. So please, _please, please stop looking at me. Please._

Suddenly I became very aware of the space surrounding us. There was less than two feet separating us, and yet I don't think I've ever felt so distant of anyone on my all life.

That was it. Shiv'ah. My grieving over my lost relationship with Jack was starting.

I had to get out of there – I felt the tears coming and I was never good at fighting them back.

But before I could move away from him, Jack grabbed my arm. I didn't want to look at him.

"I love you."

Wait, I love you?

I looked at him while he played with my hair. The gaze on his eyes really looked awfully sad.

"Coach, I should get back." He turned around, but before entering the house, he said: "Don't you ever forget I said this. It's real."


End file.
